REVELATION
by SayItRight
Summary: Eleven months into her relationship with him, Lois learns and then reacts to having learned the truth about Clark. Set post-"Pandora." Prequel to "CONSUMMATION."
1. Day One: Morning

**Title:** REVELATION [Prequel to CONSUMMATION]

**Author:** SayItRight

**Editor:** **hellokitty **(from Kryptonsite)

**Pairing:** _Smallville_'s Lois Lane and Clark Kent

**Summary:** Eleven months into her relationship with him, Lois learns and then reacts to having learned the truth about Clark. [Set post-"Pandora"]

**Rating:** PG-13 - For mild profanity.

**Disclaimer:** With the sole exception of this original story, I own nothing. I claim nothing. I am not profiting. I intend no infringement.

**Acknowledgments:** To the _Smallville_ writing staff, to Tom Welling, and, especially, to Erica Durance: Thank you, thank you, thank you for the inspiration.

**Special Thanks: **To **That'llShowEm** (from Kryptonsite), whose feedback to "Consummation" sparked this piece. To **hellokitty**, who allowed me to borrow her idea for where to set Lois's Revelation. And, to an anonymous party, whose patience and criticisms helped this piece along.

**Author's Note:** "Revelation" is a story that I wanted to tell, whereas "Consummation" was a story that I needed to tell. Accordingly, "Revelation" paints less of a broad stroke and asks a greater deal of the reader than "Consummation," and, thus, will not be to as many people's liking as the story that came first. "Revelation" consists of five parts, each of which depicts an important event in the seven-day period in which Lois learns Clark's truth, and then reacts to it.

**A Final Plea:** Please comment. Please critique. The only negative feedback is no feedback.

REVELATION

**Day One: Morning**

The sound of her cell phone blaring out an all too familiar ringtone fills her ears and her bedroom, and she wakes with a start. Her heart racing from the surprise, she feels for her alarm clock and turns its face towards her. She squints through her sleepy fog and makes out the bright numbers. Groaning, she grabs her cell, presses the "Answer" key, and collapses back into her bed. Not bothering with niceties, she answers the caller with a yawn.

"_Good morning to you, too, Miss Lane_."

"Save the snark. It's way too early for that," she yawns again, extending her legs and arms, trying to stretch the sleep from her body.

"_It's 6:30, Lois_."

"Exactly. It's way too early," she retorts, reaching for the cup of water on her nightstand. She takes a sip and washes away the gravel in her voice. "My alarm wasn't set to go off for another hour-and-a-half. This had better be business-related," she warns.

"_It's not_."

"Social, then?"

"_If you don't mind_."

"Oh, I mind. And, why do I mind?"

"_Because it's 6:30 in the morning._"

"Precisely."

"_Would you like me to let you rest?_"

"I would've preferred you held off on this call until the sun was up."

"_The sun _is_ up._"

She lifts her head long enough to peer at the dim light peaking in around the borders of her dark curtains. "It's not far enough up," she observes.

"_I'll try you again later._"

"I didn't tell you to go."

"_You didn't exactly ask me to stay either._"

"Well…I'm up now so you might as well."

"_Because you've missed me?_"

"You may be tall, dark, and superpowered, but you're not nearly as charming as you'd like to think you are."

"_You have missed me._"

"Let's try this again," she deflects, clearing her throat and sitting up to lean back against her headboard. Dropping the sass, she offers, "Good morning."

"_Good morning, Lois. How are you?_"

"I take from your tone that you're not asking me that generally."

"_I'm not._"

"Well, to answer your none-too-subtle question specifically, I'm fine. All systems are 'Go.' I got released from the hospital a few days ago and I'm officially off bed rest and headed back to the Planet today."

"_Did you actually stay in bed and rest?_"

"Thanks to Clark's hovering: Yes."

"_How is Clark?_"

"Excuse me?"

"_How is Clark?_"

"Why?"

"_Why not?_"

"Because, in nearly the year since him and me have been together, you've never asked about him. I bring him up. You don't. Not ever."

"_Today, I am. How is he_?"

"He's fine."

"_Is he there with you?_"

"Why does that matter?"

"_He's not there with you_."

"No. He's not."

"_Where is he?_"

"I don't know. Probably at the farm. He's picking me up after my shift today. He's got some big date planned, I think."

"…_Let's not talk about him anymore._"

"Why not? You brought him up."

"_Technically, you brought him up_."

"I always bring him up."

"_I don't think I care very much for Clark_."

"Excuse me?"

"_I don't like Clark. He should be there with you. You're hurt._"

"I'm fine. And what's with the attitude?"

"_You don't even know where he is._"

"Why do I need to?"

"_Maybe you don't need to. But, you should._"

"What's wrong with you? You've never had a problem with him before. In fact, you're usually the one who talks me down when he and I are fighting or when I don't know what to do with him."

"_I don't want to talk about Clark._"

She pauses for a moment, wondering if she should press further. Deciding against it, she unfolds her legs, turns around, and lies back onto her mattress, asking, "So…I guess it's me who has to address the elephant in the room."

"_What elephant?_"

"You're flying now, apparently. I read about it during my two-week tour of duty at Met Gen."

"_Oh, that. Yes. I am. Flying, that is._"

"I didn't know you could fly. What's it feel like?"

"…_Liberating. Like there's no end to me and no beginning to anything else. I feel…totally connected. Totally free._"

"That sounds amazing," she muses, closing her eyes and imagining the experience. Before she can think the better of it, she tells him, "You should take me with you sometime."

"_Lois…I -_"

"- I know. But, just humor me and say you will someday."

"…_I will, Lois. I promise._"

Reining in her fancy, she takes a deep breath and redirects the conversation. "So, is it hard? Is it like learning to ride a bike?"

"_Not really. It's like telling your hand to move. I just think about wanting to do it and it happens. I can't yet go very fast and I can't yet lift things that are very heavy while I'm doing it -_"

"- What do you mean by 'fast' and 'heavy'?"

"_I can't quite fly as fast as I can run. And I can't lift things that are bigger than, say, a semi-truck while I'm midair. But it's coming along pretty quickly. I just started a couple weeks ago and, back then, I could only lift things the sizes of small cars._"

"Why couldn't you fly before?"

"_Well, you remember what I told you: My abilities develop over time. I get stronger and faster as the years go by. The flying is just part of it_."

"And, all because of our yellow sun, right?"

"_Yes…and no._"

"How do you mean?"

"_Well, um…sometimes it takes…a, uh, a trigger for some new ability to…happen._"

"OK. That's vague, even for you."

"_Miss Lane -_"

"- Don't hide behind the formality. You're not fooling anybody."

"_Alright… Okay... Honestly, Lois… I couldn't fly before that night I saved you. You were unconscious, so you don't remember. But I did. For the first time. I just kind of…lifted off. Like I'd been doing it my whole life."_

"Well, I'm glad it finally kicked in. Any more blood loss and you'd be having this conversation with my headstone," she jokes, reaching for the magazine on her bedside table and turning over onto her stomach to flip through it.

"_You don't understand._"

"What's not to understand? You saved my life - again. I'm thanking you."

"_It wasn't coincidence, Lois. I flew_ because _of you_."

Taken aback by his tone, she stops flipping through pages. Not wanting to assume what he's implying, she evenly offers, "Desperate times. Desperate measures."

"_No, Lois… My father, the man who sent me here, told me that I couldn't fly yet because I hadn't accepted who I am._"

"Who you are? As in a less gross-looking cousin of E.T.?" she quips.

"_I'm serious, Lois. I've been in worse situations than the one I was in that night. But, it was you. It was you, bleeding out in my arms all because you got caught up in something that you could have avoided if you knew…_"

"If I knew what?" she asks, discarding the magazine and moving to sit on the edge of her bed.

"…_I've wanted to tell you… I've been trying to tell you for months._"

Worrying, "Tell me what?"

"…_What you mean to me._"

"Well," she begins, dismissing his tone, "don't get your blurry britches in a twist. I'm not stupid. I'm still your only contact at the paper. Hell, from what I can tell, I'm still your only real contact outside the superhero world. We talk constantly. You even make a point of answering my calls. So, yeah, I know."

"_No, you don't. Lois…You…You're the only person who's ever completely accepted me exactly as I am. No questions asked. Without ulterior motive. Without trying to convince me to be something that I'm not, or that I don't want to be. Your faith in me even comes out in your articles. Even when you started suggesting that I'm not of this world, people seemed to embrace that, because it was coming from someone who believes in me like you do. It's shown me that people are ready to accept someone like me. Lois…you've…you've helped me accept my real identity…my true self._"

His candor takes her off guard and she doesn't respond. Realizing that she's stopped breathing, she shakes her head and stands, aimlessly pacing around her room.

"_That night, seeing your blood on my hands…I was losing you all over again -_"

"'Again'?"

"_I-It doesn't…it doesn't matter. I just…I was losing you and it was my own fault. And it shouldn't have taken a situation like that to get me to tell you the truth._"

"What truth?"

"_The truth that…that I…_"

"That what?" she presses, stopping in the middle of the floor.

"…_That you are very, very important to me. That you are as important to me as…the sun._"

She coughs out a nervous laugh. "I'm flattered. Really, I am. But -"

"_- I love you, Lois._"

"Oh, god," she winces, bringing her hand to pinch the bridge of her nose. "A little blood loss and you suddenly pull a Darcy?"

"_Don't insult me._"

"I'm not insulting you. I just don't know where this is coming from. What changed?"

"_I flew, Lois! That's what changed. And it didn't happen in any other situation or with any other person. It happened with you. Believe me, the convenient thing to do would be to deny the significance of that event. But I can't do that anymore. I can't keep denying how much I completely and utterly love you just to keep my life simpler or to keep myself from being honest with you._"

"Alright, Super-Stud. We've officially reached the part of the conversation where I need to remind you that I am spoken for. I am very happily spoken for."

"_Clark doesn't deserve you._"

"Are you picking a fight with me?"

"_He doesn't deserve you._"

"You _are_ picking a fight with me," she sighs, sitting down in her armchair and propping her feet up on the ottoman.

"_You don't even know where he is right now. He could be on the other side of the world and you'd have no idea._"

"Well, seeing as he has to pick me up in ten hours, I highly doubt it."

"_You're deflecting._"

"I don't like your tone."

"_He disappears_."

"He does not."

"_Yes, he does. You've told me so_."

"Well… I was exaggerating. He has family obligations, you know. He has leads to chase down. He has a life of his own. He doesn't need to be under me all the time_._"

"_You're rationalizing his behavior._"

"He's busy," she tries, with none of the conviction she wishes she felt.

"_He's lying. And, you know it._"

"I know no such thing."

"_Does he call you when he's gone?_"

She pauses, knowing she should redirect the conversation. But, despite herself, she answers honestly, "Not really. No."

"_Do you call him when he's gone?_"

She admits, "No."

"_Exactly. You don't call him when he disappears. You call me._"

"I call you whether he's here or not," she counters, knowing that she's trying too hard.

"_Yeah. But, you _never_ call him when he's gone. You just said so. What does that tell you?_"

"That I don't want to bother him when he's busy or when he's away."

"_You call me because you know he won't answer._"

"You don't always answer."

"_And yet, you try anyway._ _What does that tell you, Lois?_"

"Why are you attacking him?" she exasperates, squeezing her eyes shut.

"_Answer my question._"

"Answer mine."

"_I'm not attacking him. I am pointing out that you deserve better than someone who's not being honest with you._"

Searching herself, she offers a sincere response: "He's a private person. I respect that."

"_You're rationalizing again._"

"I'm gonna chalk your hostility up to a bad day at the office or the need for a super-sized nap."

"_You know what I'm doing if you call and I don't answer -_"

Leaning forward in the chair, she warns, "- Alright, you're bucking a little too hard here, bronco -"

"_- I'm more honest with you than he is. I'm more forthcoming._"

"Well, you have that luxury, don't you?" she bites back, flustered by his sudden and uncharacteristic assault on her boyfriend. "You venture nothing, you risk nothing in our relationship. You call; you don't call. You answer; you don't answer. You take no real responsibility when it comes to me. Anyone would tell the truth to a stranger."

"_You're not a stranger. You mean everything to me._"

"I mean everything to him."

"_Has he ever told you that?_"

"He doesn't have to."

"_He should._"

"I can't believe I'm having this conversation," she scoffs, rubbing her temple.

"_I'm right. And, you know it._"

"No, Skywalker. You have no idea what you're talking about," she corrects. "You don't see him light up when I walk into a room. You don't feel the tenderness in his touch. You don't hear him when he says he loves me. You don't know how he falls over himself to make and keep me happy. So, no, he doesn't have to say a thing. I already know."

"_You deserve to hear the words. You deserve someone who won't delay being honest with you. You deserve someone who'll tell you in no uncertain terms how he feels._"

"I deserve to have my choices respected."

"_You're content to spend however long you two are together not having all of him? Giving everything of yourself and never getting everything from him? You're willing to let that happen_?"

Repeating the sentiment she's told herself countless times before when Clark's actions become too questionable to ignore, she sighs, "I love him."

"_You're excusing him._"

"If he were on the line right now, he'd tell you to go to hell."

"_You said he doesn't swear._"

"He's been dating me for nearly a year. So, when provoked? Yeah, he does."

"_He can't fly_."

"And you can't take me to the midnight premiere of _Deathly Hallows_, even though you hate all things Harry Potter."

"_What?_"

"You can't make me be nicer to my co-workers with just a single disapproving look. You can't play Guitar Hero with me until 2 AM. You can't smile at me so hard my heart starts doing somersaults. Okay? So, don't turn this into a competition because you'll lose the prize every day of the week and twice on Sunday," she cautions, finally remembering why she's in her relationship, for better and for worse.

"_Tell me you don't love me._"

She takes a deep breath and a pregnant pause. Gently, she tells him, "I do love you. You're a great, dear friend. You're practically my best friend - as far as non-citizen, hardly-reachable, barely-ever-seeable best friends go. But as significant as that love is, the nature of it isn't the same as what I feel for him. Do you understand?"

"_No. I don't. I don't understand why you tolerate anything less than the whole truth. You deserve more than that._"

"OK, I don't know where this superhero PMS is coming from, but listen: You don't know Clark. You know me. You trust me. So, just have a little faith in my judgment. If he's not telling me things, then he has good reason. I trust him. I love him."

"_He's a lucky man._"

"He knows that. But I'll be sure to tell him you think so."

"…_I'm, uh…I'm sorry for all this, Lois. You're right: I didn't sleep last night. I shouldn't have taken my frustrations out on you._"

"Or him?"

"_Or him._"

"You're forgiven. Superpowered crime-fighters get to have bad days just like everyone else."

"_Maybe you're right. So…you saw_ Deathly Hallows_, huh?_"

"Yes, I did," she smiles.

"_They really stepped it up with the special effects, I thought._"

"I know, right! But don't even get me started on Ron's haircut…"

...


	2. Day One: Night

**Author's Note: **Credit where credit is due: The idea for where to set this pivotal installment belongs to my editor_, _**hellokitty**. The story in general and this chapter in particular were built on her foundation, and I would be remiss in not acknowledging her invaluable contribution. Now, without further ado…

**Day One: Night**

"Are your eyes still closed?"

"Are my eyes still covered?"

"Don't be difficult. Did you peek?"

"And ruin the surprise you've been so eager to reveal for the whole evening? Never."

"You peeked."

"I did not."

"Then, why are you being difficult?"

"I'm not. It's just that I've been sitting here twiddling my thumbs for the past twenty minutes and the charm of your blindfold-the-girlfriend-with-my-tie-so-I-can-run-off-to-set-up-some-over-the-top-surprise plan is starting to wear off. Besides, you know I hate surprises."

"But, you like the way I smell."

"What?"

"You like the way I smell. Hence the tie, and not any other stupid piece of fabric I could have put over your eyes."

"Oh."

"Exactly. And have you enjoyed sitting here smelling me even while I've been off setting up my 'over-the-top' surprise?"

"Maybe."

"You have."

"I have."

"You done busting my chops?"

"Never."

"Have it your way."

"What are you doing?" she asks, taken off guard when she feels him reach for her hips and turn her from facing the dashboard of his truck to sit perched on the edge of the seat with her legs hanging out of the open door.

"Taking off your heels. They'll sink into the grass."

"So, we're roughing it tonight?" she smiles, as he plucks her strapless stiletto pumps from her feet and sets them on the floor of the car. "You should have told me. I would've dressed appropriately."

"You look beautiful," he tells her, admiring the form-fitting lines of her cocktail dress.

"Thanks. So do you."

"You can't even see me."

"I don't need to."

Smiling at her flattery, he reaches past her to grasp the MP3 player connected to his stereo. He pauses the Whitesnake playlist he's been running to keep her entertained, and scrolls through the rest of his songs. Finding the one he's looking for, he sets the track to repeat, presses "Play," and slowly turns up the volume loud enough to reach his meticulously labored-over setting.

Recognizing the sparse strings and restrained melody, she asks, "Where do I know this song from?"

"From the Potter film before _Hallows_. From that scene in the Room of Necessities -"

"- The Room of Requirements," she corrects.

"Whatever. At the time, you said you really liked it. You even hummed it for the rest of the day. But, I don't think you ever bothered to download it, so…here you go."

"I can't believe you remember that."

"Believe it," he tells her. "Would you rather walk? Or do you want to be carried?"

"I'd like to be _escorted_."

"You'd like to be carried," he smiles, briefly pressing his lips to her cheek.

"Do I need my jacket?"

"No. You'll be warm enough." Gently, he takes her arms and drapes them around his neck and shoulders. "Hold on," he tells her, as he reaches an arm under her thighs and reaches the other around her back.

She sighs, contented, as he scoops her up out of the car and into his arms. "My liking this so much does not make me Scarlett O'Hara."

"I don't know. The brunette hair, the big eyes, and the ball-breaking hit it pretty close to the mark," he retorts, and begins walking towards their destination. "And I have carried you up many, many flights of stairs."

She softly laughs, not bothering to correct his understanding of that infamous scene. Resting her head on his shoulder, she simply says, "Well, you're taller than Rhett Butler. And you're prettier."

"'Prettier'?" he chuckles, incredulous.

Teasing, "I'm sorry. Does that word offend your masculine sensibilities?"

"No. But, it should offend yours."

She laughs, amused by his quip, as she feels them cross over into an area of radiating heat.

He takes a few more smooth strides before stopping. "We're here," he tells her.

She holds on to his shoulders as he tightens his hold on her back and leans forward to set down her legs. Immediately, she recognizes the texture of flower petals and a blanket under her feet. "This isn't grass," she observes.

"Stop complaining," he smiles, moving around behind her, resting a hand on her waist, and pressing a kiss to her neck. With his free hand, he begins carefully undoing the knot holding his tie together at the back of her head, asking, "You ready?"

"Let's see what you got."

"Eyes closed?"

"Eyes closed."

He pulls the tie away from her and casts it aside. Wrapping his arms completely around her, he rests his chin in the curve of her neck and whispers, "Open."

She holds her breath and slowly opens her eyes. Standing near a moonlit lake with his arms around her, her chest swells with wonder as she takes in the overwhelming spectacle of a sea of yellow and orange rose petals covering the scarcely seeable surface of several large light-colored blankets arranged in a perfect circle. Beyond the petals, clear vases full of alternating yellow and orange calla lilies encircle the borders of the blankets in alternating colors. And, in two rings inside and outside the vases, dozens and dozes of white candles cast a swaying, amber glow, pushing out the darkness and stillness of the air beyond, and holding everything within in warmth and light.

"What do you think?" he gently asks.

"It's amazing," she replies, leaning back and turning her head to kiss his cheek. "But, why not red?" she teases, turning in his embrace. "You breaking up with me?"

He lightly laughs, "Red doesn't reflect the light as well. And, no, you're not getting rid of me that easily."

"So, what is all this?" she wonders, draping her arms over his shoulders.

Leaning around to the side of her face, he whispers into her ear, "It's a dance floor."

Amused, she pulls back to meet his gaze, "You brought me out here to dance? Don't get me wrong, I'm glad that you've finally found some rhythm, but… Is that really what this whole evening has been about? A chalupa-picnic in the park after work. _Deathly Hallows_ again, but in IMAX 3D this time. Whitesnake on the entire drive out from the city. A homemade dinner at the farm. Maple doughnuts and Chunky Monkey on the porch afterwards... All so you can ask me to dance?"

"Are you complaining?"

"Not in the least," she answers, inclining her mouth to capture his lips.

Before she makes contact, he says her name, stopping her. Clearing his throat, he reaches for her hands around her neck. Lacing his fingers into hers, he brings her hands between them and holds them firmly. Taking a deep breath, he begins, "Lois…I wanted to, um…this whole evening has been, uh…I-I'd wanted to…god, I'm screwing this up." He shakes his head and shifts his weight.

"Take your time," she offers.

"I'm sorry. It's just…I had something written down, but, uh…it's not…coming to me…Okay, uh…" He clears his throat again and swallows.

"Whatever it is, just…tell me. Because you're starting to weird me out here, Smallville."

He blows out a long breath, drops his eyes to their hands, and tries again, "Lois, you ask, well, nothing really…of me, that is…But, uh…I know that you must wonder sometimes why I, um…I'm trying to tell you th-that…"

Concerned for his discomposure, she unlaces her fingers from his and brings her hands to hold his face. Tilting his head up and meeting his gaze, she gently asks, "What is it, Baby?"

He coughs out a nervous laugh and replies, "You must be really worried to call me that."

"And you must be really off your game to need to hear it."

He smiles at her retort and lets her affection ease the tightness in his chest. Calmer than before, he begins, "Lois -"

"-Wait," she interrupts, as a thought occurs to her. "Are you trying to…?"

"To what?" he asks, confused.

"I-Is this a…?"

"A what?"

"You know, is it a…are you trying to…you know?"

"Huh?"

"Well, are you?"

"Am I what?" He raises his eyebrows at her and she raises hers in return. She cuts her eyes at the setting around them and then meets his gaze, raising her eyebrows further. "Oh!" he exclaims, finally taking her meaning. Stammering, he quickly corrects, "N-No. No, no, no, no. This isn't that. I mean…but, no. No. I wouldn't…we, um, I don't think we -"

"- Neither do I," she scoffs, agreeing.

"OK, then."

"Yeah. OK."

"Good."

"Great."

They pause, embarrassed. Then, he coughs out a slight chuckle, and she does so in return. Shaking their heads and taking long breaths, they continue softly laughing away the tension. Their awkward moment passes and soon, the gentle melody drifting from his car fills their ears, relaxing them. Taking in the flickering candlelight playing across the curves of her face, he offers her a small, gentle smile.

"Dance with me, Lois."

She returns his tender gaze as he takes one of her hands in his and snakes an arm around her back. She rests her free arm on his shoulder and asks, "So, what are we doing?"

"Can you waltz?"

"Can you?"

"Yes, I've been practicing. You?"

"General's daughter, remember? I've logged a lot of hours at formal events."

"Good," he says, leaning forward and pressing a light kiss to her temple. "It'd be a shame if you couldn't keep up."

She responds to his dig with a deep and teasing laugh, as he secures his hand to her back. He waits a few beats, and, then, steps forward in rhythm with the music. Slowly, smoothly, he eases her across the expanse of petals. For long minutes, they turn and sway as the strings rise and fall, and the melody articulates their affections. He steps away from her, releasing her back and spinning her as the final notes play, and she returns to his embrace.

"Well done, Smallville," she compliments.

He moves forward and wraps his arm tighter around her. Gently, he lifts her up and settles her bare feet on top of his.

She laughs, "You're making me feel like a total cliché."

"I thought you liked me carrying you around."

She looks down. "Does this hurt?" she wonders.

"No. Not at all."

The music begins again and he holds her closer to him. She tilts her head back up to meet his eyes, as he begins leading them to the leisure harmonies once more. She smiles, basking in his sentimentality. Slower than before, he gracefully moves them back and forth and around, as she leans her head onto his chest and closes her eyes. He smiles as she relaxes into him, moving her arm from his shoulder and reaching around his back, hugging him tighter.

Enveloped by his warmth and affection, she loses track of how many times the song ends and begins again. She doesn't realize she's nearly fallen asleep until she hears him say her name.

"Hmm?" she quietly responds.

"I've wanted to tell you, Lois. I've been trying to tell you for months."

"Hmm?" she murmurs again. She feels him move her hand to his chest, but she does not notice as he undoes the top few buttons of his shirt and slips her hand underneath the open fabric, splaying her fingers against him. Still well within her reverie, she does not fully register the smooth material where ribbed cotton or skin should be.

"How much you mean to me," he whispers in response. "What you are to me…"

"And, what is that?" she muses.

At the sound of his answer, her heart skips and an impossible feeling grips her chest. She opens her eyes, shuddering as she takes in a terrified breath. She swallows, and forces herself to ask him to reiterate his sentiment. She hears him clearly. She hears the gravity in his voice. She knows there's no going back as he tells her,

"The sun."

She shudders, recognizing the echo of the words she'd only just heard this morning. She turns her head to face his chest, and sees the smooth fabric underneath her fingertips. Her hand shaking, she moves his shirt further open, and takes in a sharp breath as she sees the beginnings of an all too familiar letter enclosed by an all too familiar shape.

Her mouth parts as her breaths quicken, and she slowly trails her eyes up his body. She meets his gaze, and finds him regarding her with both resolve and dread.

"I promised I'd take you flying," he reminds her, barely above a whisper.

She looks down, focusing her vision beyond his form and gasps, "Oh, my god," as she realizes that they're floating well above his dance floor. Seeing the tops of the trees and his truck, she panics, squeezing her eyes shut and falling into him. He holds her closer as he feels her body begin to violently shake and her chest press into his faster and faster, in time with her desperate breaths.

"P-Put me down," she stammers and huffs. "Put me down now."

She feels their quick descent as the cool night air blows up through her hair, and she very soon feels the warmth of the candlelight on her skin, indicating that they've reached the ground. She opens her eyes and pushes at his chest, stumbling backwards out of his embrace.

"Oh, my god," she repeats over and over, feeling dizzy, unable to catch her breath.

He stands, watching her aimlessly pace back and forth. He doesn't know how long he remains silent, watching her react, but eventually, he clears his throat and tests his voice.

"Lo-Lois…please…"

"Oh, _my_ god… Oh, my _god_…" she continues gasping, again and again.

He tries talking over her. "Please, Lois…Please, please talk to me..." Instinctively, he takes a few steps towards her.

She hears him approaching and, her eyes on fire, turns to glare at him, warding him off. "Don't you _dare_!"

He stops, his heart sinking at the sight of her stricken face. He watches her look down at the symbol that his half open shirt is still revealing.

"Who are you?" she shudders.

"I'm me, Lois," he responds, grateful that she's at least talking to him. "I'm the same person you've known for years, in whatever capacity that you've known me in."

"I don't accept this. This isn't… This isn't even conceivable! This is… It's _unconscionable_, Clark!" she shouts, as burning, stinging tears fill her eyes.

"Lois, please. Listen to me -"

"- Listen to what?" she unleashes at full volume. "_You're a superhero, Clark_! Or maybe it's: _You're my boyfriend, Blur_!"

"It's both, Lois. I'm both. You know me as both. You love me as both."

"Oh, _do not_ pull that!" she rages, wiping away at the first tear racing down her cheek. "_Do not_! How _dare_ you make an emotional appeal right now!"

"I'm not trying to -"

"- To _what_? Exploit the situation? Abuse my ignorance? Make a fool out of me for the past eleven months?"

"That's fair, Lois. All of that is fair."

"Do not play 'reasonable'! Do not!"

"I'm not trying to talk you down, Lois. I'm not trying to make this better."

"Yes, you are!"

"No, Lois, I'm not."

"_This_ is it, Clark? This is the answer to everything?"

Clenching his teeth and admitting, "Yes."

"Clark, I've…I've seen you get shot!" she huffs, still pacing.

"There were traces of meteor rock on the bills in the room. Do you remember what I told you about the meteor rocks?"

"You mean, do I remember what _The Blur_ told me about the meteor rocks?"

"I'm still him, Lois."

Remembering, "Clark, you…you were standing right there when I _talked _to The Blur that time!"

"That wasn't actually me on the phone."

"Who was it?" she demands, stopping and glowering at him.

He pauses for a moment, and then answers, "Chloe."

"_Chloe?_"

"Yes. She's known about me since senior year. She helps me out. She runs this kind of techno-backup place. She helps me and other people like me."

She throws her hands up and scoffs, looking to the sky for help. Lowering her eyes back to him, she braces herself for the answer to her next question. Closing her eyes and rubbing her temple with her hand, she lowers her voice and evenly asks, "Who else knows, Clark?"

He shifts, swallows, and begins listing, "Lionel, Lana, and then Lex, over the next few years after Chloe first found out; Oliver, since I first met him as Green Arrow -"

"- You know about Ollie? You've known about Ollie from the beginning?"

"Yes," he admits. Forcing himself to continue, he goes on, "Tess, a year after I met her; Jimmy, right before he died. And there are a bunch of other people I've had run-ins with over the years, like AC and Dinah, and they all know, too."

"And your parents, obviously."

"Yes. They found me and my ship in a cornfield when I was a baby, when I landed during the meteor shower. But, Lois, they didn't know anything for sure. All they knew was that I was different. I didn't even know I wasn't from Earth until I was fourteen, and it took me years to put the rest together."

She pauses for a moment, trying to process the staggering extent of his deception. As she tries to get her mind around things, something occurs to her, "Hold on. How are we even talking about this right now? Don't you have somewhere else to be?"

"Not tonight. I took care of it." When she raises her eyebrows, questioning him, he explains further, "I told Chloe, Oliver, and a few others that I'd be busy, so they're handling things."

"And I'll bet they all know exactly why you're busy, don't they?"

"…Yes."

"Of course," she huffs. Too overwhelmed and confused to keep crying, she wipes her fingers underneath her eyes and sniffles. Deflated, she shrugs, "How did I not put these pieces together? God, I have been so…blind."

"No, you haven't. And I know it may not seem this way right now: But, Lois, you know more about my two lives than anyone else. The only real thing that you didn't know is that I'm both people. And that's not your fault. It's mine. Because I have actively and purposely kept this from you."

"Then, why are you telling me at all? Why does it even matter? You could have kept this going for forever, and I may have never figured it out. God knows, I wouldn't have tried."

"Because I don't want to keep this from you. And I haven't wanted to keep this from you for a very long time. I've been trying to tell you. I swear, I have. But every time I'd start planning to, I'd talk myself out of it. I'd put it off another day, or another week. And, I was stupid. I was an idiot. And, I am sorry, Lois. I am. I am so sor -"

"- Don't, Clark. Do not apologize to me. We are so far beyond the reach of an apology. 'Sorry' just…does not cut it right now."

He stops, respecting her wishes.

She shifts her weight and crosses her arms, holding herself. As their exchange halts, she resents the beguiling lilt of the music encroaching upon them as it takes her back into her memory and she realizes, "Clark, I…we…I-I talked to you. I talked to you for, like, a year-and-a-half. And this whole time, it's been you? This whole time?"

His silence tells her everything she needs to know.

"Clark, do you even begin to understand how…how much of a violation that is? How far beyond the pale? My god, Clark, I…I told The Blur private stuff. I talked about _you_ half the time."

"I know," he admits. "But, I tried to never let you get too personal. I did try, Lois. And I never exploited those conversations for the sake of our relationship. You just, you…you needed someone to talk to. And, I -"

"- Me? What about you?"

"Yes. Me, too. Lois, my relationship with you as The Blur meant everything to me. It _still_ means everything to me. I just… I couldn't stop myself. OK? I tried. I tried to keep that part of me away from you. But, I just couldn't. That side of me _needed_ to have you in his - in _my_ life."

She closes her eyes, affected by his sincerity despite it all. Bringing a hand to her chest to massage away the tension there, she asks, "What was that all about this morning?"

Shaking his head, "I-I don't…I don't know..."

"Try harder," she insists, opening her eyes.

He shifts, clearing his throat. "I needed…I had to talk to you. And the only time I ever got to be honest with you was as him. I _never_ lied to you as him -"

"- And, you know why that is, don't you?"

"You're right," he acknowledges, remembering her rebuke from earlier this morning. "I took no real responsibility for you in that relationship. You may have gotten a confidant, but I got much more and I did so by being dishonest. And, that's not fair. That's not excusable."

"Exactly. Now, keep going."

He takes a breath and digs deeper, "I didn't…I didn't sleep last night. I was talking myself out of this again and I hated myself for it. I hated Clark - I hated _myself_ for doing this to you, because despite every excuse that I could use to explain why it took me this long, the real reason is simply that it was _easier_ not telling you."

"Not because of some misguided notion of chivalry?" she exacts.

"No, actually. It was never that. Knowing the truth about me is a burden, yes. But, I've never thought for even a second that you couldn't handle knowing. The basic truth is that I had two amazing relationships with you, and that we were happy in both of them. And, it was just easier to not tell you the truth. So, I put it off, and I rationalized my actions. And last night, I was doing it again, and I was hating myself for it. And, I knew that talking to you was the only thing that could keep me from taking the coward's way out again. So, I waited. I did actually wait until a somewhat reasonable hour. And then, I called you. And I know I wasn't kind, but -"

"- Wait. Please, tell me you weren't _actually_ on the other side of the world at the time."

"No, I wasn't. For once, I was exactly where you thought I was. I was at the farm, knowing that I needed to do this tonight, because you deserve more than lies. And, Lois, I was so sick to death of lying to you. But please, just please understand that…that I _had_ to talk to you again. I knew it'd probably be the last time, and I needed to tell you just once, as him, what you mean to me. I needed to tell you that I love you."

Shaking her head in disbelief, "Are we really back to that -"

"- Yes, Lois," he pleads. "Because it's the truth. I love you. I do. As him. As Clark. As all of me. I do love you."

At a loss, "Damn it, Clark. Wh-What the hell is the appropriate reaction to be having right now?"

"Honestly? I don't know. I've never told someone like this before. They've either already known or it wasn't my choice to tell them anyway. And I _did_ want this time to be different. I wanted it to be different with you, which is part of why I tried so hard to keep the truth from you: I didn't want you to hear it from anybody else. I wanted to do it right. I wanted it to be me. For once. For the first time."

"God, Clark. I don't know if I should be flattered by that or if I should just slap - Wait. If I were to slap you right now, would it hurt? Would you even feel it?" she demands, narrowing her eyes at him.

"As a matter of fact: Yes, Lois. It would hurt."

"How does that even make sense? A nuclear blast can't put a scratch on you."

"OK. That question, I was prepared for," he says, shifting his weight to a more comfortable position. Using his hands to emphasize, he explains, "Alright, just like how when you kiss me, -" - she rolls her eyes at him, but he presses on - "- I feel everything there is to feel in that touch, if you slap me, it will hurt. It won't leave a mark, it won't do any physical damage, but it will actually hurt me. I have a, uh… a wider threshold for sense and sensation than a human - both a far greater susceptibility to them and a far greater resistance to them. That's why I can hear and see really well, but also why something like a nuclear blast can't do me any harm."

She blinks, and she blinks again, trying to understand. "But, I punched you before and it hurt me. So, why do you feel just like anyone else at any other time?"

"That time that you punched me, I was braced against damage because of the danger of the situation. But, any other time, like right now, I'm as malleable as you are. I'm not made of stone. How I experience sensation and how my body responds to it has nearly everything to do with my perception of it. It's in my head, in a lot of ways. And that part I can't explain exactly. But I do know that an atomic explosion can't kill me because my body knows to guard against the physical pain and the physical damage. But on the other side of things, my body knows how to engage everyday sensations, too. Like washing my hands or showering. It's just that at a certain point, my body won't accept pain or harm. So, I can experience a shower just like you can, but if the water gets too hot, it will burn you. It won't burn me."

"This is…just…" she trails off, trying to get her bearings.

"I know it's hard to process, but, Lois, you have to understand, most of how my body reacts has to do with my mind and my emotions. And I am _nothing_ if not entirely invested in you mentally and emotionally. So, if a stranger on the street were to take a swing at me right now, it would hurt them. Not me. But if _you_ slap me, it wouldn't hurt you in the least. But it would hurt me. You can't run me down with the truck, because that's past the threshold of what my body will allow, no matter how I think or feel. But you can hit me and know that it hurts. And, frankly, I'd rather you did at this point."

Sighing, "I'm not gonna hit you." She buries her face in her hands, her mind still racing. She tries to find some truth to hold on to, but everything she reaches for has a different color to it - a different shade and meaning. Her mind is split in two. She tries to reconcile the divide, but it's too much, too sudden, too soon. Defeated, she drops her hands and sighs, "I can't do this with you right now. I just can't. So, take me home. Please, just take me home."

"Lois, wait…" she hears him say as she turns away from him and back towards the truck. A gust of wind blows through her hair and several petals swoop up into the air as he appears before her.

Caught entirely off guard, she exclaims, "Oh, my god, Clark! Are you kidding me with that?"

"We can't leave, yet," he says, taking a step towards her.

She crosses her arms and backs away from him, until she's put a sizable distance between him and her. "Why the hell not? You made your big reveal. Now, I want to go home."

"Because I didn't just bring you out here for this. And if we leave now, you may never let me finish explaining."

"Explaining what?"

"That I love you."

Glaring at him, "Really? Again with that?"

"Lois, it's true. And it happens to be the reason why. Look, I know you said that you don't need to hear it to know that it's true, but I need to get the words out, okay?"

"What are you talking about, Clark?"

"This morning. You said that you know what you mean to me, and that you don't need me to say it. And maybe that's true, but it's not what you deserve, Lois. You've put up with way too much, you've rationalized way too much, you've been way too understanding for me to not make this clear."

She looks away from him and out into the darkness beyond their bright, candlelit setting. Closing her eyes, she absorbs his acknowledgment that while she has been happy in their relationship, she has also endured considerable amounts and degrees of slights. She takes a deep breath and turns back to meet his gaze. "All right, Clark," she tells him, still rubbing out the ache in her chest and holding herself with her other arm. "I'm all ears."

He squeezes his eyes shut for a moment and takes a steeling breath. Opening his eyes to find hers, he begins, "Lois…That night that I flew for the first time finally drove it home for me. But…it sh-shouldn't -" he falters, remembering the sight of her nearly-lifeless body and the blood rushing from her. Trying harder, he continues, "It shouldn't have come to that. It shouldn't have taken you bleeding out in my arms, all because you were in a situation as a result of my lying, for me to finally fly. And it shouldn't have taken me flying for me to finally get my head around just how important you are to me.

"And, Lois," he digs further still, "the most shameful thing about all this is that I am not that stupid or self-deceiving. I have known since that day you took my hand in the elevator at work that there would never, _never_ be someone who means to me what you do. And I wanted to tell you then. I wanted to tell you the truth about me right then and there, for no other reason than the fact that you make me so happy and so proud to be exactly who I am - whether that person is some dorky farmer or whether that person is a superpowered alien. And me feeling so safe and so secure in your presence made me want to lay myself bare, made me want to tell you everything. I've never felt that before, Lois. Not with anyone. Not ever.

"I wasn't being sentimental that day when I told you that you make me stronger. I was absolutely serious. I feel energized, I feel fortified, I feel unstoppable with you in my life. You have made me better, Lois. You have helped me become who I am today. And that's why I wanted to tell you here and nowhere else -"

"- Where is 'here'?"

"I buried my father here. My real father."

"I don't understand."

"Before the planet I'm from was destroyed and my actual father was killed, he was cloned. And a year ago, he wound up on Earth. But by the time I found him, it was too late. He died; he bled to death, in my arms. And I buried him under that tree," he explains, gesturing towards a large stone near the water's edge. "And that's why -"

"- I'm sorry."

"What?"

"About your father, Sweetheart. I'm sorry."

"Oh… Thank you," he quietly accepts, sidetracked by her sentiment and her endearment, even in the midst of the deeply upsetting situation he's put her in. Blinking and clearing his throat, he goes on, "That's… That's why I wanted to tell you here. Because my father sent me to Earth to inspire and to do everything I can to help. That's why I wear this shield," he says, gesturing to his chest. "Because it reminds me of who I really am, of who he wanted me to be, and of who you've helped me become. I'm ready now. I'm ready to tell the world my secret. And like I promised a long time ago, I am telling you first."

She shifts her weight onto her other hip, saying, "Well, I'm…glad you're telling me… And I'm glad you're finally ready for your big debut -"

"- No, Lois," he stops her, "that's not…I mean, that's part of it. But, telling you the truth and telling you I'm ready to share it are not what I'm trying to get at here."

"I'm listening, Clark."

He takes in a long breath and slowly lets it out, summoning the resolve to make clear what he has not yet managed to. Focusing on her, he steps forward, but she takes a determined step back, still holding herself. "You're right," he understands, stopping himself, knowing that he can't rely on her proximity to make this easier for him.

"Lois," he begins, "as spectacularly patient and as ridiculously understanding as you are when it comes to me, you deserve to hear the words just as much as I want to say them..." Fighting through the tears brimming his eyes and the emotion straining his throat, he tells her,

"You, Lois, are the Love. Of. My Life. You are my best friend. You are my true, great love. And it doesn't matter what decision you come to. It doesn't matter if you decide that you want me out of your life, because I will still spend the rest of mine being every bit as in love with you as I am right now, and being every bit the man that you've helped me become. I knew from the moment your hand touched mine in that elevator that it's you and only you. I should have told you then, and I should have told you every moment since just how much you mean to me. I'm telling you now: I love you, Lois. Every single part of me loves every single part of you. Unconditionally. Without expectation. For the rest of my life. I love you."

His voice breaks as he finishes, and he watches her blink away several tears. She shifts a little, and mumbles something to herself that he doesn't try to make out. Breathing deeply, she runs her hands through her hair and clears her throat. He doesn't realize he's stopped breathing until he sees her begin to move towards him.

She crosses the petal-covered distance between them and walks directly into his arms. Without hesitation, she reaches for his face and pulls him down to her. His eyes fall closed as her lips touch his. She pushes her hands back into his hair and he tightens his arms around her back. Gently, deliberately, she presses into him, running her lips over his as she feels the emotion he's been holding back roll down his face in a single salty streak. After long moments, he feels her press firmly against him one final time and then slowly pull back, holding his forehead to hers. He moves his hands to cradle her face as he hears her sigh, "I just realized what we've been standing on this whole time."

She unthreads her hands from his hair and moves them to hold his wrists. Running her thumbs over the bottoms of his palms, she whispers, "Look at me."

He opens his eyes to find her regarding him with what he recognizes as ambivalence.

Meeting his gaze, she quietly tells him, "I love you. You know that."

He nods slightly, already beginning to take her meaning.

She tightens her grips on his wrists as she briefly touches her lips to his once more, before evenly telling him, "Then you understand that what I'm feeling right now has absolutely nothing to do with that."

The air rushes from his lungs and his heart sinks as he feels her pull his hands from her face, and watches her turn to walk away from him. He lowers his head and squeezes his eyes shut as she makes her way back across the surface of his sun, and settles in a place far away from him. She clears her throat, and the aching notes of the music underscore her tone as she says, "Start at the beginning."

He shifts, swallowing his regrets and steeling himself for the long night ahead. Opening his eyes to meet hers, he begins, "My birth name is Kal-El… I was born twenty-three galaxies away on a planet called 'Krypton'…"

...


	3. Day Two: Afternoon

**Day Two: Afternoon**

She holds Lois's trembling form, letting her fall apart, letting her fully confront the gravity of her situation. She, too, can't help but cry, understanding exactly what she's going through, understanding just how difficult an experience this is. She's glad Lois came to her. She's glad they're having the talk that they're having. Not just for Clark's sake, and not just for the sake of Lois's relationship with Clark, but because now, finally, there's someone else standing in her shoes. In this moment, in this quiet room, they are connected by their shared experience, and that's all that matters.

After long minutes, she's not sure how many, she feels the strength of Lois's sobs subside, and she pulls away to study her face. Firmly holding one of Lois's hands, she reaches into her purse and pulls out a large, folded square of floral-printed white cotton. She dabs her eyes with it, and offers it to Lois.

"Thanks, Mrs. K," Lois sniffles, accepting the soft fabric and using it to wipe at her still-falling tears.

"Don't mention it, Lois," Martha replies.

"No. I mean, thanks for everything. For even seeing me." She looks around Martha's spacious, impeccably decorated office, and notes the stacks of legislation sitting on her desk, the folders sitting atop an open file cabinet drawer, and the distant sound of constantly-ringing phones outside her door. "I know how busy you are."

Squeezing Lois's hand, Martha comforts, "Busy or not, I've always got time for you."

Lois smiles at Martha's sentiment. Satisfied that her tears have slowed enough, she finishes with the handkerchief and hands it back to her.

Thinking for a moment, Martha pushes Lois's offering back towards her, saying, "Why don't you hold on to it?"

"No. I'm fine now," she lies. "I've just kind of been on edge the last day or so."

"Which is perfectly understandable. Anyway, I think the original owner would want you to keep it," she says, gesturing towards the linen material still in Lois's grasp.

"That's you, right? It's got your initials on it," Lois sniffles, trying to gather herself.

"It was Jonathan's actually," she explains. "I balled my eyes out watching some old movie on our first date. He had no idea what to do, and he said he felt bad that he could only offer me a sleeve. So, from then on, he started keeping handkerchiefs on him just in case. I tried telling him that I'm not actually a crier, but I think he just liked the idea of being prepared. He got my initials embroidered on the first in a long line of those things after we got married. That's the last one he had in his pocket the night of the election," she sighs, recalling the tenderness of her late husband.

"Sweet man," Lois offers, remembering.

"That, he was."

Looking down at the memento in her hand, Lois tries again, "I can't accept this."

"Believe me: If Clark is the reason for those tears, then Jonathan would want you to have it," Martha reassures.

At the mention of Clark, Lois's eyes swell and brim. As more streams make their way down her cheeks, she apologizes, "I'm sorry. It's like I can't turn it off."

Martha leans back towards Lois and wraps her arms around her. "Don't be sorry for this. You're allowed to be upset." She rocks Lois back and forth, rubbing her back as another round of heaving sobs racks her body.

Through her tears, Lois gasps, "I'm being so selfish. You're his mother. My stupid feelings don't even begin to compare."

Pulling back, Martha studies Lois's stricken face. "Oh, Sweetheart," she gently corrects, "Yes, they do."

She re-encircles Lois in her embrace and waits as she rides out the worst of her sobs. After a long while, she feels Lois's breaths even out, and feels her trembling cease. Stroking her hair, she asks, "Better?"

Martha feels Lois nod against her shoulder and mumble, "But I think I've ruined your blouse."

Lightly laughing, she tells her, "That's alright. I keep a few extras in the closet, anyway." She takes the large square of linen from Lois's hand and wipes it along Lois's cheeks, chin, and nose. When she's finished, she helps Lois stretch out along the couch and rest her head in her lap. Looking down at Lois and holding up the handkerchief, Martha asks, "You won't keep this?"

Lois simply answers, "I can't."

Conceding, Martha tucks the damp cloth back into her purse, then holds Lois's hand with one of hers, and rubs her head with the other.

"Do you think he knows where I am?" Lois wonders.

"I highly doubt it. As sharp as he is, the simplest answer does escape him sometimes."

Smiling, she agrees, "You're right."

They sit in silence as Lois closes her eyes and lets Martha's comforting touch assuage her. She doesn't realize she's nearly fallen asleep until she hears Martha quietly muse, "Jonathan would be so proud of Clark for finally telling you."

Lacing her fingers into Martha's, she asks, "Really?"

"Absolutely. It's a very hard thing to do, particularly for Clark - sharing his true self with the people he cares about, especially after going so long not doing it. For a long time, Jonathan was wary of Clark telling people the truth. But as Clark got older, he learned to trust his decision-making and he came to understand that Clark needed to be honest with certain people. And, if 'certain people' includes someone like you, then I think Jonathan would've fully supported that choice. Besides, I don't think he'd be surprised by how you and Clark turned out."

"I don't doubt that Mr. Kent was perceptive, but…" she trails off.

"Oh, he knew before I did, Lois," Martha tells her. "Don't get me wrong, I figured it out pretty soon. But, Jonathan knew from the word 'go,' seeing you and Clark stand in our kitchen that morning. I mean, I don't think he predicted where you two are now, but he definitely saw the spark. Maybe it was male intuition or something, but he told me Clark was too annoyed by you for there to be nothing there," she smiles.

Chuckling, "Well, he'd be happy to know that I still aggravate his son to no end."

Laughing, Martha continues, "The only reason he agreed to you living with us in the first place was that he knew Clark was too dense to get it. And, he understood how much Clark cared for Lana." She pauses, and then goes on, "That night after I told him that it wasn't you who accepted Lionel's money for the campaign, he was so upset with himself for doubting you. He went on and on about you, about what you meant to our family and how impressed he was with you. And you know Jonathan was not a man to go on and on about just anything or anyone."

Opening her eyes to meet Martha's, she jokes, "You trying to make me cry again?"

"Of course not," she smiles. "I just know Jonathan would be happy that Clark finally managed to tell you the truth."

"What truth?" she scoffs, bringing her free hand to pinch the bridge of her nose. "I know practically everything there is to know about him. Both of him. The only real truth is that, apparently, my boyfriend and my best friend inhabit the same body."

"And it's hard getting your head around the overlap?"

"Yes, it is," she sighs, gazing off into the open air of the office. "But, more than that… I just can't imagine how hard this has been for him. Having to hide who he is and what he does from so many people, especially the people he cares about… The General keeps secrets. And I know how they wear on him and what they do to his relationships… How does Clark do this? How has he done this? For all this time?"

After taking a while to consider her response, she tells her, "It hasn't always been easy. It still isn't, in many ways. And in some respects, it never will be. But… Look at me." With teary eyes, Lois turns her head to meet Martha's gaze. "He just came clean to the woman he loves. He's been carrying that weight around for a long time and now, regardless of what you decide, you know everything. And he's free of that burden. Trust me: His life just got infinitely less complicated and less difficult with you knowing."

Wiping at an errant tear, she says, "Yeah. And, what does he get for his trouble? I pull a Houdini and disappear."

"I'm sure he understands," she soothes. "Granted, he's probably agonizing over how you're feeling. But, ultimately, I'm sure he understands and respects that you need distance. After all, he didn't tell you the truth with any expectation for your future. He told you because you mean the world to him. To 'both of him,' as you put it." Remembering, "I've seen him endure a lot destructive situations and relationships over the years, but -" - smiling - "- ever since he's gotten closer to you, as both of himselves, he's just…I don't know. He's just different… He glows. He's full of warmth and light. He's unstoppable."

Her cheeks warm at the sound of Martha's sincerity and she deflects, "That's sweet of you to say -"

"- I'm not exaggerating, Lois. It takes a certain kind of person to help turn a boy into a man. And you did that for my son, just by being exactly who you are, and by supporting him in being exactly who he is… I was surprised when he told me he'd been talking to you as his alter ego. I actually discouraged the idea of him deceiving you like that. But then…he told me about your talks and about how much it meant to him to have someone support him like you do, to have someone take an earnest interest in what he needs. Do you understand what that relationship meant to him?"

"I guess."

Martha quirks a stern eyebrow at her.

"I mean, yeah. Yes. I knew," she quickly corrects. Clearing her throat and continuing, "It was one thing for him to be calling me out of the blue all the time. But then, one day, he started insisting that I call him whenever I wanted. So, I did. Especially when Clark would disappear. While we were still up talking early this morning, I asked why he started taking my calls as The Blur… He said it was because he missed me, and because he wanted us to still have access to each other, even while he was away playing 'superhero.' But, he knew he'd have to lie to me as Clark, so the solution was not lying to me as The Blur… It's kind of sweet, actually." Thinking for a moment and softly laughing, "I actually thought The Blur was jealous of Clark, because whenever I'd mention something private about our relationship, he'd change the subject. Of course, now I realize he just didn't want to abuse my not knowing who I was really talking to."

"Good to know I raised a gentleman."

Smiling, she corrects, "Two gentlemen, apparently."

"Fair enough," she concedes, poking a playful finger into Lois's side. "But my point is: He couldn't do what he does if he didn't have the people he cares about in the back of his mind. And you, my dear, have become a huge reason for why he's able to do what he does without it overtaking him."

"He didn't quite put it that way."

"Well, he's not as eloquent as his mother."

A laugh bubbles up from Lois's throat and Martha shares in her amusement. Seeing Lois enjoy her first real moment of ease since she showed up at her office, her mind goes to her son, and to how relieved he'd be to know that Lois is actually in her care. Tenderly, she sighs, "God, he adores you."

"I know," she smiles, her voice free of the strain it had not long ago. She sits up from her reclined position and scoots closer to Martha. "And, the feeling's mutual."

"I can tell," she notes, as Lois leans her head onto her shoulder and threads their fingers together in her lap.

After a few quiet moments, she asks, "How do you deal with it? Worrying about him? Not knowing what's happening to him?"

"I never stop worrying. Not completely. And, neither will you," she answers, firmly holding Lois's hands. "But, in time, you'll learn to find peace with the fact that sometimes he will be struggling or hurting, and there'll be nothing you can do about it." She turns her head to press a kiss to her forehead and gently continues, "But remember this: Clark has grown into a very powerful, very courageous, very resolute man. So, you just have to trust that no matter how bad things get for him, even when it takes him longer than he'd like, he'll always come back home."

Contemplating Martha's sentiment, Lois recalls all the times Clark has returned from what she now knows were nothing short of heroic endeavors. She remembers him, time and again, retaking his desk chair opposite her, and giving her an affectionate smile that bespoke nothing of the difficulties he must have endured. She inhales, taking in Martha's confidence as her own, and exhales, releasing her worry. "You're a real rock, Mrs. K."

"We have that in common, don't we?"

Lois smiles and basks in Martha's warmth, feeling infinitely more secure about Clark's wellbeing than she did when she arrived. After a few minutes of reflection, she voices her other nagging concern, "How does this work? Romantically, I mean. How are we supposed to move forward with our relationship when so much of it - past, present, and future - has changed? When I haven't even gotten my head around…everything?"

Martha considers for a while before answering, "Well, I have no doubt that you two can make this work, should you so choose. But, beyond my sincere vote of confidence," she sighs, "I'm not sure I can offer you the help you need there." After pausing for a moment, she ventures, "Though…there is one person who could."

Taking Martha's meaning, Lois doubts, "But, I don't even know where she is."

"Well," Martha replies, trying to think of a solution. "You should call Chloe," she suggests. "I'm sure she has the resources to help you track her down. And while you two work that out, I insist that you stay with me for a couple of days," she finishes, not waiting for Lois to consider her initial suggestion.

Understanding that Martha isn't leaving any room for discussion, Lois focuses on her offer, answering, "No, I couldn't impose. Not again. Not after the last time."

"Lois, a visit from you is never an imposition. So, even though it took Clark finally making a move to get you to come see me, I was happy all the same. Besides, we had fun those two weeks, right?"

Grinning and remembering, she nods against her shoulder, "Yeah, we did."

"So, it'll be the same this time." Smiling, "We can talk more. I can fill in some of the blanks that I'm sure he didn't. You can sleep late and lounge around. I'll make sure you get some real food in that stomach. Vegetables included."

"Like mother, like son."

"Is that a 'yes'?"

"No broccoli?"

"No broccoli."

"Then, yes."

"Good. It's settled. I'll have one of my assistants take you to my house while I finish up here."

"Thanks, Mrs. K."

"You're welcome, Lois."

...


	4. Day Four: Afternoon

**Day Four: Afternoon**

She watches Lois rise from her seat on the couch next to her and run an aggravated hand through her hair. She looks on as Lois paces aimlessly across the floor, emphasizing her frustrated rant with her hands. She can't help but empathize, understanding exactly what she's going through, understanding just how difficult an experience this is. She's glad Lois came to her. She's glad they're having the talk that they're having. Not just for Clark's sake, and not just for the sake of Lois's relationship with Clark, but because now, finally, there's someone else standing in her shoes. In this moment, in this quiet room, they are connected by their shared experience, and that's all that matters.

After long minutes, she's not sure how many, she hears Lois's voice begin to crack under the strain of her emotions. As Lois falls silent and, at a loss, collapses back into the couch, she stands to make her way across the room. She reaches into the mini fridge in her kitchenette and retrieves two bottles of water. Returning to the couch, she keeps one for herself and offers the other to Lois.

"Thanks, Lana," she accepts, twisting open the top of her bottle and swallowing enough of the water to soothe the dryness and ease the tension in her throat.

"Don't mention it, Lois."

"No. I mean thanks for everything. For even seeing me." She looks around Lana's large, mostly unfurnished office, noting the stacks of file boxes, the cords for at least a dozen high-tech computers running across the floor in every direction, and the overall state of disorder. "I know how busy you are."

"Busy or not, this is a conversation I've got all the time in the world to have. And, please excuse the mess. We're still in the beginning stages of getting this place up and running."

"Sorry to pry," Lois apologizes, needing a change in subject, "but what got you back on the Isis-track?"

"I don't know," she half-heartedly shrugs. "Time, I guess. I just woke up one day and wanted off the superhuman highway, and, in time, I realized what direction had been better for me all along."

As gently as she can manage, "I can't say that I wasn't surprised to hear about what had really been going on with you. I mean, of all the wrong turns, a powersuit?"

"Yeah," she nervously laughs. "Let's just say I was…misguided. But, I found my way in the end, so, 'All's well,' right?"

"And it's gone for good now? The suit?"

"It's actually been gone for a while." Calculating in her head, "Nearly a year, I think."

"Oh. No one mentioned how long it'd been." Wondering, "Why didn't you come back home?"

"Because my time there had run its course," she admits. Taking a breath, she looks around her at the trappings of her new life and smiles, "And besides, I'm really happy with what I've been doing lately. This is our third Isis and our first outside the US. We've got a full staff of doctors, therapists, financial consultants, legal professionals. It's really growing. I think this is actually going to be the main center. I've always really liked it here. The city, the culture, the history."

Teasing, "I don't suppose liking it here would also have something to do with the guy that showed me in? The one who wouldn't quit grinning at you?"

"Maybe a little," she smiles. "But it's still early, so I don't want to jinx it by talking about it too much."

"Fair enough."

"Besides," she gently reminds, "we're not discussing my guy. We're discussing yours."

At the mention of Clark, Lois's eyes swell with scorching, defeated tears. She apologizes, "I'm so sorry. This has happened more in the last few days than it has in the last few years."

"Don't be sorry, Lois," Lana soothes, squeezing Lois's hand. "This is a lot. Knowing changes everything. The big stuff. The small stuff. All of it."

Sniffling, "This sounds stupid, I know. But…The whole time I was listening to him tell me about what actually happened with you two, I was thinking, 'God, that poor woman.' I mean, it all makes sense now: how hard it was for you two for so long. His secret-keeping sabotaged your relationship before it even started. And even after you found out, even after the air was clear, you two still couldn't make it work -"

"- No, Lois," she says, stopping her. "Look, I'm sure he takes all the blame for our demise. But, believe me, that's just not true. Don't get me wrong: Not knowing for all those years did do more damage than either of us could fix, but, honestly, I had a _huge_ hand in why we didn't work out. It was as much my fault as it was his."

Wiping at the few streams of moisture rolling down her cheeks, "OK. I accept that. But, Lana, you two _absolutely_ crashed and burned. And, I mean, you're the only other woman who's been close to him like that, so what am I supposed to think when your relationship is the only history I have to go on as far as whether me and him can make this work from here on?"

"I'll tell you exactly what you're supposed to think: That what Clark and I had was first love. That we made _all_ the mistakes that people do when it comes to their firsts," she admits, her voice breaking and her eyes brimming in empathy. "That, yes, our screw-ups were compounded by his secret-keeping. But that, ultimately," she insists, meeting Lois's gaze, "we just weren't meant to be. I was not The One. And if anything has become perfectly clear over the years, it's that you are."

Taking a deep, shuddering breath, "That's sweet of you to say, but -"

"- No, Lois. I'm not overstating that. Do you remember the day we met, when I dropped you off at the farm?"

"Yeah," she recalls, sniffling.

"Well, it took me all of a minute to assume that you two were dating or something. You two had just met, and he was already referring to you as 'we,' like you were a team or something. You two were already doing the unspoken language thing. But most importantly, he seemed really, _really_ annoyed by you," she smiles through her tears.

Wiping at a salty streak, "Why does everyone keep saying that?"

"Because it matters. No one gets under his skin like you do. The next time I saw him after our awkward exchange at the farm, I asked him about you two. He looked so provoked at the mere mention of your name. He called you -" - remembering - "- bossy, stuck up, and rude. I mean, if that doesn't say 'chemistry,' I don't know what does," she teasingly finishes.

Amused despite herself, a laugh bubbles up from Lois's throat.

"I told him that's how all the best ones start," she comforts, lightly laughing along with her. "I'm glad to see I was right."

They share in their amusement a bit longer, and Lois finally lets Lana's assurances sink in. Seeing some of the tension leave Lois's face, Lana stands to make her way towards a corner in her office. She rifles through a moving-crate, and retrieves a box of tissues. Returning to the couch, she plucks a few soft sheets from the box and sets it down between them. Lois takes a few of her own, and they both use them to wipe away the dampness lining their faces.

Offhandedly, Lana wonders, "Do you think he has any idea of where you are?"

"Not a chance," Lois scoffs. "And Chloe would never spill."

"Have you talked to him? Since you left?"

"No. Not at all," she responds, tossing her tissues into a wastebasket near the couch. "We spent the entire night and most of the next morning getting through his explanations and the answers to my questions. Then, he dropped me off at my apartment in the city, I packed a bag, and I hopped on the first plane to go see Mrs. Kent." She pauses, remembering Martha opening her office door, immediately wrapping her arms around her, and telling her secretary that she was not to be disturbed under any circumstances.

"You do know he's probably worrying himself to death about you," she reminds, throwing away her own tissues.

"I know," she sighs. "But he hasn't called, so I figure he's doing okay with the space. I asked Chloe about him. She said he seems fine. No sulking or moping. He just doesn't want to talk about it."

Lana shifts a bit, and then hesitantly inquires, "What did he say to you? When he was making his big reveal?"

She contemplates her response, not wanting to disclose anything that would put her relationship with Clark in too stark of contrast to Lana's. After a moment, she simply responds, "That he's wanted to tell me… That he's ashamed it took him so long… That he loves me… And that he's prepared to lose me."

Considering the weight of his sentiments, Lana can only say, "Wow."

"Yeah, I know," she quietly exhales.

They sit in silence for several long minutes, each woman lost in her own thoughts.

After a short while, Lana breaks their silence, acknowledging, "I saw you two almost kiss at Chloe's wedding."

Lois takes in a deep breath, remembering the embarrassment and devastation she felt in that moment. "I always figured you did."

"I'm only bringing it up because I never wanted you to think that I walked in on purpose, which is how I know it might've looked." She clears her throat and continues, "I came in as you two were dancing, and then I stopped when I saw you both leaning in. I was just going to stand there in the shadows, but then Chloe spotted me and it was too late to do anything but say 'Hello'… I mean, I wasn't shocked that you two were apparently happening… Hurt? Yeah. But, not surprised… And then all that stuff happened after you left…" she trails off. Gathering herself, she finishes, "I know it's cliché to say that 'a woman always knows,' but… On some level, I think I knew I was just… resisting the inevitable."

Sincere, Lois offers, "I'm sorry."

"No. I'm sorry," Lana corrects. "I'm not naïve… I know that you got hurt because him and me were too stubborn and immature to just move on. And even though we were never very close, I have an enormous amount of respect for you, Lois. You know that. And, woman to woman, even though the past is the past, I've always just wanted to say that I'm sorry."

She gives Lana a small, gentle smile, acknowledging her sentiment. "'All's well,' right? For both of us."

She returns Lois's smile and they share a moment of unconditional understanding. Then, she pats Lois's leg, saying, "C'mon, let's get some air."

They both stand and Lana leads Lois across her office and swings open the double doors leading onto the balcony. As they step out into the cool breeze, Lois tells her, "By the way, he mentioned that you came back to visit him at some point after you got…de-suited."

"Yeah," Lana confirms, leaning back onto the railing as Lois takes a seat in a lounge chair. "It was maybe a month after you two started dating. Over the holidays. I remember because he was in the middle of wrapping your gift at the time. He redid it, like, four times until he was convinced that it was absolutely perfect."

Rolling her eyes, "What a dork."

Lana smiles at the affection in Lois's quip and suppresses a laugh.

After a few moments, Lois's brow furrows and the lines in the rest of her face return as she ventures, "I assume you two talked about me?"

"Definitely. You were actually the main topic of conversation."

Clearing her throat, she asks, "Did he mention that he'd been calling me as The Blur?"

"Yes, actually. And, I was dead set against," she responds, shaking her head and crossing her arms. "I know that friendship meant the world to him, but… But, when we talked, he was adamant that he was going to tell you the truth about himself some time soon, and… I mean, I'm biased, I guess… But I knew that those talks and the depth of that relationship and extent of that deception just…Wow. I can't even imagine." She watches Lois's shoulders sink as she gazes out at the city. Sensing what's the matter, Lana asks, "Was he still calling you? Up until this week?"

"He was."

"Oh, my god. Lois…"

"Tell me about it," she scoffs, taking a long drink from her water bottle.

"I-I don't even know what to say to that."

"I do. And every word has four letters in it," she huffs, rising to stand with Lana. She grips the railing, leaning into it, and vents, "I just keep going back to it, you know. I mean, we talked about everything - absolutely everything. It wasn't just the heroics and the articles; it was music, and politics, and movies. And at least half of our conversations had to do with Clark in some way. And every time I manage to put how _violated_ I feel out of my head, I remember some talk that we had and I remember the stuff that I told him and…" she trails off, the strain in her throat growing.

Lana remains silent, recognizing Lois's need to voice her frustrations.

"I… I'm not stupid, you know," she goes on. "Even before we started dating, I always knew there was something about Clark. And, once we got into our relationship, it got to be pretty damn obvious that he was keeping things from me. He would leave in the middle of dates; he wouldn't even show up some of the time. He would disappear for days on end. And he would lie right to my face, time and again. Eventually, I just made a point of ignoring all the slights, big and little. I didn't ask; he didn't tell. Because I figured, at the end of the day, if he was keeping something from me, then he had good reason.

"But _this_? Never mind the alien-thing; never mind the superhero-thing. _This_ is what I can't get my mind around: For me, that line between my boyfriend and my best friend could not have been broader. I was having completely separate and, for the most part, completely wonderful relationships with both of him and, now, trying to put them together is just…infuriating. The veil is gone. Everything is different. Every memory I have of both of him, from the moment I met either of him, now has a different shade to it. And I am just…I can't even describe it. I just… I _can't _believe he let it go on this long," she exasperates, shaking her head.

"How did he explain it?"

"The same way Mrs. K. and Chloe did: He said I was supportive and accepting and understanding in a way that he hadn't experienced before." She closes her eyes and softly exhales, as she loosens her grip on the rail, conceding, "And, you know what? That's…that's fine. That's great. I get that. And mostly, I am thrilled that I could be there for him and that I could help him, because, god knows, his is not an easy life to lead…but there's just this nagging part of me that can't help but see this entire ruse as…as…"

"Selfish?" Lana finishes for her. As Lois shifts and opens her eyes to meets hers, she intuits, "That's the word you've been waiting to hear, right? But he can't say it and neither can anyone else?"

Sharply exhaling, she answers, "Yes. And, yes."

Lana steps closer to her and gently conveys, "I guess that's the advantage to me having been where you are, even if it was under different circumstances. Maybe no one else can say it because no one else really understands."

"Exactly," she agrees, grateful to have at least one person in the world that can completely sympathize. "I mean, yes, he's a great guy. And, yes, he's been in a damnable position. No one's doubting any of that," she allows. "But, he said it himself: He didn't not tell me because he thought I was so much safer not knowing, or because he thought I couldn't handle it. He wanted to tell me. He intended to tell me. And, the last day or so, I have been going out of my mind listening to everyone chalk all this up to complacency or procrastination. That just does not cut it. It's selfishness. No euphemisms need apply," she finishes, finally feeling the tension in her chest and throat ease.

Lana watches Lois, seeing her take a few long, easy breaths and seeing her posture relax. Without a word, she understands that Lois has at last expelled the resentment with which she arrived at her office. For a moment, she wishes that there had been someone before her, someone with whom she could have commiserated when it came to Clark. But, grateful to be in a position to help someone else where no one could help her, she exhales her regrets and turns to gaze out into the open air.

For a long while, they stand in silence, until Lois quietly offers, "You don't know what a relief it is to have someone actually get it."

"Oh, yes, I do," Lana corrects. "Standing here with you makes me feel a lot less crazy about my rollercoaster of emotions way back when."

They fall silent once more, each woman occupied by her own thoughts.

Eventually, Lois again breaks their silence as she huffs, "Damn it, Smallville."

Lana smiles, "Oh, I know that tone."

Turning to Lana, "He's just such a jerk."

"Yup," she indulges.

"And dumb."

"Definitely."

"As a rock."

"Mm-hmm."

"And he just…you know, he…"

"He's still just the completely and utterly wonderful love of your life?"

Burying her head in her hands, she groans, "Yes."

Lana lightly laughs at her, "And you can't stay mad at him for more than an hour at a time? If that."

"I'm hopeless," Lois mumbles from behind her hands.

"Oh, please," Lana continues laughing, reaching out to pull Lois's hands from her face. Meeting her gaze she reminds, "You're not the first to fall victim to the Clark Kent-charm."

Smiling and laughing at herself. "You know, it really is absurd when I think about the overlap. It's practically comical. I mean, he's this extraordinary, commanding, heroic figure, who, by the way, is flying now."

"Really?"

"Really. And at the same time, he is just…"

"Truly, madly, deeply in love with you?"

"Yes!" she exclaims, throwing her hands in the air. "The most powerful person in the world is the same guy who has insisted on learning to wash and dry my hair just so he can have an excuse to touch it; the same guy who will pick an all-out fight with me if he goes more than twenty-four hours without seeing me eat a vegetable; the same guy who keeps track of my cycle so that he can be sure to stock the farmhouse, my apartment, and his desk at the Planet with my preferred brands of tampons, chocolates, and pain killers!"

"Wow, he's got it bad," she concludes, entirely amused.

Rolling her eyes and smiling, "Yes. He does. And, despite nearly a year of the disappearing act and the half-baked excuses, it's impossible for me to do anything but…love him to pieces. Sure, he really, _really_ screwed up in going this long without telling me. But - what the hell? - I can't put him in the doghouse just for dragging his feet."

They laugh for a while longer, and spend a few minutes chatting about his doting nature.

Soon after, Lois leaves the edge of the balcony and sits back down on the lounge chair. Shifting a bit, she clears her throat and hesitantly asks, "Can I, uh... ask you about something more private?"

"I'm an open book," Lana offers. "Let's hear it."

"Well," she begins, "you two were, uh…intimate."

"Oh, that," she groans, remembering.

"Yeah, that," she winces.

"He's been avoiding you?"

After thinking for a few seconds, she answers, "No. He's actually really affectionate. But, he clearly will only let himself take that affection so far. And, I didn't wanted to make him feel uncomfortable around me by pushing the issue or bringing it up before he was ready, so I just kind of backed off a long time ago. But, all the same, it's been nearly a year, and him and me have barely rounded first base."

"And, you don't know why?"

"Not a clue. And I really don't understand because, well…he did with you. But me? Nothing. I mean, is he just not…interested?" she ventures.

"No. I'm sure he's interested," she quickly reassures, "But like most things, the skittishness on the physical front has everything to do with who he really is. He thinks he can't, you know, with a human."

Confused, "But you two…"

"Yeah, but only when he didn't have his powers," she clarifies. "Or, when we both had powers."

"Oh."

"Yeah."

"So, he's never…?"

"As far as I know: No, not technically. He hasn't."

She pauses, processing the information she's been given. As she tries to rationalize his hesitation, she shakes her head, saying, "But…th-that doesn't make any sense. Beyond the fact that he simply _would not_ hurt me, I don't think his body even works that way - in terms of him constantly controlling his strength or his powers. At least, that's how he explained it to me."

"Well, I definitely think you're right about him not hurting you," she agrees. "But as far as his physiology goes, I think his understanding of all that post-dates me, so I can't help you there. Though, in all fairness, you have to remember: Even if he wasn't hesitant about it, he still never would've taken that step with you without you knowing the truth… Granted, he did with me without me knowing. But, I don't think he'd want to -" - searching for the right word - "- _cheapen_ your experience by either not being upfront with you about who he really is, or by being someone other than who he really is when you two cross that line."

Thinking for a moment, "You're right… I hadn't thought of it that way."

She approaches Lois and sits down next to her. Gently, she tells her, "Now that you know everything, I'm sure he'll bring up the subject and his concerns about it. Probably sometime after things settle down and you two adjust. But, just know in advance: The physical intimacy thing is a really, really big hang-up of his. So, I honestly can't say where you two go from here in that department. But, my opinion, if he's ever going to get over that hurdle, it'll be with you. I know you've probably been hearing this a lot the last few days, but…you are his exception. End of story."

Feeling her cheeks warm, she deflects, "You really don't have to be this nice to me, you know."

"Why wouldn't I be?" she smiles. "I still care a ton about everyone from my old life, including Clark. So, if I can help in any way possible, then I'm eager to. The past is the past. And, besides, I'm working on my own 'happily-ever-after' here."

"I'm glad things worked out for you."

"Me, too."

She takes in a long, deep breath and slowly lets it out. "So, what would you do now if you were me?"

"I think the real question is: What do _you_ want to do?"

"Hug him," she instinctively responds. "Tell him that I'm not angry. Tell him that I don't want out. Tell him that I love him."

"Well, there you go," she smiles, warmed by the thought that her former love has found someone who makes him as happy as he deserves to be.

"Yeah, but," she doubts, "there's still so much more I have to get my head around. I can't go back just yet."

"So, don't. I think you deserve at least a few more days. And, in the mean time, you're perfectly welcome to stay with me. We can talk more. We can sightsee, if you want. Or, you can just lounge around and get some much-needed R&R. And then, when you're ready to go home, you'll go."

"…Thanks, Lana."

"You're welcome, Lois."

...


	5. Day Seven: Night

**Author's Note: **To **hellokitty**, the best editor any writer could ask for: Thanks for putting up with me - again.

**Day Seven: Night**

It's been so long since I've felt the sensation of your lips on mine, tasted your warm mouth. I've missed this. I've missed having you near me. I don't care that I'm dreaming. At least here, you're with me, instead of off somewhere else, probably hating me for all the right reasons.

They all want to know what happened. They all want to know how I'm doing. They keep asking me with their eyes. But, they're not you. And I can't talk about this with anyone other than you until I know how you are. Because from the moment I heard your heart flutter and skip at the sound of my reaffirmation of what you are to me, your feelings became all that matter.

As I feel you press against me and run your lips across mine, I'm reminded of the last real kiss that we shared. Of how reassuring and devastating it felt all at once. You pulled my hands away from you and you didn't let me near you again. I know you hate refusing my touch just as much as I hate not being able to touch you. But I understand that my proximity makes things harder for you.

I should have told you forever ago. I should have told you forever ago because that's how long I've known you are the only one for me. That it would either be you, or it'd be a lifetime of wanting it to be you. Even before it was romance, even before you took my hand that day, I knew. And I should have let myself be honest with you then. I should have let you embrace the truth because you'd already embraced every part of me.

You move a hand to my face and wipe away the tear I didn't know was there. I shudder, and I feel more wetness fall. I'm ruining this moment for us. And that's not what I want. I don't want to waste a second of the time you're here with me with sadness.

I reach out to hold your face, pushing my regrets from my mind and focusing on how much I love you. I inhale the familiar scent of your hair as it cascades down over me. You're pulling away from me and you're saying something, and I feel my dream slipping away. I tell you not to leave me. I beg you to stay. And, mercifully, you come back.

I squeeze my eyes shut a little tighter and try to remember this moment, try to imprint this memory of your nearness, because I'm not certain I'll ever feel it again. You didn't tell me anything for certain. After my very long explanation and our very long discussion, you didn't say anything except that you were leaving and that you needed time. And then, you were gone. And I don't know where you are or how you are. I don't know if you're hurting or how badly. I only know that whatever pain you do feel is my doing.

I don't deserve forgiveness for this. I don't expect forgiveness for this. But, I am sorry. And, I need to tell you that. And I know I may never get the chance, because you only ever allow me to apologize when you've reached the point where you're ready to forgive me.

You let me press deeper into you as I ease my mouth further open. You let me touch my tongue to yours, and you press back against me. The familiar notes of cherry and vanilla wash over my palate as I drink you in, savoring your taste. You massage my tongue with yours, drawing out my need, and I forget everything but this moment that we're sharing. I whimper into your mouth and seek out more contact. I want to keep you here forever. I'll stay asleep forever if that's what it takes.

You're holding my face to yours and firmly pressing your mouth to mine. You're murmuring against my lips and slowly pulling away. You're saying something, telling me something. But, I don't want to hear it if it means you going away again.

Articulating the only word I care to hear right now, I whisper your name. I'm not leaving this dream. Nothing in this world or any other can make me.

A shiver runs through my body as I feel the palm and fingers of your hand come to rest on my chest. Suddenly, I'm very aware. I hear you now.

"Wake up, Baby."

My consciousness comes in waves. I'm opening my eyes, trying to focus on what's happening. I'm not convinced that I'm not still dreaming. You glance down at my mouth, and I take your cue. I lick my lips, and recognize your taste on me, and I know it's really you. You lightly trace your fingers along my chest and continue holding my face, as I work my way through my surprise and relief, trying to find my voice.

You're here.

You're really here.

"Hi."

...

You're not at the farm. You're not at the Planet. You're not at the Watertower, or whatever-the-hell it's called. After having gotten lost trying to find the place, I finally found Chloe mid-conversation with Ollie and Dinah in what must be the most high-tech playhouse on the face of the planet. Chloe cut her eyes at the new couple and then, in code, asked me if I found what I was looking for. She was talking about Lana, of course, seeing as I'd had to enlist her help in tracking down your apparently-once-powersuited-but-now-all-smiles-and-normality ex.

I told Chloe that it went fine, and then Ollie chimed in, making some remark about how everyone's been dying to know how the reveal went down and what's going on between you and me. Was that what you've been putting up with the last few days? I hope you haven't let Ollie get to you. He's only acting out of residual guilt over how I found out about his own double-identity. Before I could tell him where to shove his curiosity, Dinah beat me to it. Which didn't entirely surprise me, considering what you told me about her family, and seeing as she'd texted me out of the blue a few days ago, offering to bury the hatchet and to sit down for coffee if I ever need some no-strings-attached girl talk. You know, I have to admit: Little Miss Fishnets is growing on me.

After Dinah shut Ollie up, I got right to my point, asking the three of them where you were. They exchanged knowing looks, and then, Chloe had to step forward and gently remind me that you could be anywhere. I hadn't thought of that, Clark. I'd spent half the night driving from the airport, out to the farm, and back into the city trying to find you so that I could tell you in person that I'm back. And it took my cousin, the 24/7 backup to you and yours, to remind me that you could as easily be in Metropolis as you could be in Russia or on Jupiter right now. I stood there looking like an idiot, trying to put your two identities together, trying to figure out where my salt-of-the-earth boyfriend ends and where my superpowered best friend begins. But, I can't think of it that way, can I? Because, technically, I have been dating a superhero all along; I just didn't know it. And technically, I've also been becoming best friends with my adorable farm boy all over again; I just didn't know it.

Chloe gave me a hug. Ollie gave me a hug. Even Dinah gave me a hug, which - go figure - I didn't mind. They told me that it gets easier and that, unlike everyone else who's found out, I have a support system to help me through the adjustment. I guess they have a point. And I know I should be happy, because everyone's been really kind and really thoughtful, and, frankly, they all seem to be really relieved that I finally know. Your mom was great. And Lana was, too. But, it's been six long days now, Smallville, and I'm officially sick of talking about you, and thinking about you, and missing the hell out of you, and being in everyone's arms but yours.

Defeated, I walk through the door into my apartment and drop my belongings in the middle of the floor. I turn on the light in my living room and the first thing I notice is that everything I see is spotless and in perfect order, which is definitely not the state I left this place in. You've been busy, apparently. Or, then again, maybe you haven't. How fast did you say you could move? Maybe this didn't take you very long at all. Though, isn't it kind of cheating if it only took you a few minutes? Or, maybe it's not technically cheating at all since the normal you is, in fact, someone who's capable of cleaning a room that fast. This is giving me a headache -

- Wait a minute! Are you kidding me? Is that a Wii? You got me a Wii? Even after you swore you never would because of - what did you call it? - my "overly competitive and excitable" nature? Just how sorry are you? And, more importantly, what games did you get? Let's see. Guitar Hero. Lego Star Wars. Sports Resort. And - be still, my heart! - Mario Kart. Well done, Smallville. I'm so gonna kick your ass when we fire this thing up.

I head into the kitchen, wondering how my "Honey, I'm home"-gift will stack up to yours. It's only a rough draft, but it's pretty thorough, and we've got plenty of time to sit down together and edit it.

Opening the door to my refrigerator, I find it fully stocked with all my favorite things, and also all the stupid things you and your mother think I should be eating. Like vegetables. You really have been busy. Is all this your way of groveling? Or have you just had no idea of what the hell to do with yourself since I've been away? Or both? You've probably spent the last week kicking yourself, you big baby. Mrs. K. was right: Man of Steel or not, you turn into six-and-a-half feet of mush the second you think you've screwed up with me.

I close my refrigerator door. I can't eat right now. I can hardly even think. I just want to collapse into my bed and hope that I'll see you at work in the morning, probably some time after Perry tears me a new one for taking off on short notice.

Leaving the kitchen, I can't help but wonder if maybe I should try yelling your name really loudly. Maybe you'd hear me. You can do that, right? I guess you can. But, I don't know how nearby you have to be to hear me, or if you're even available. Besides, I do have neighbors.

I peel off layers of clothes as I make my way down the hall to my bedroom. Before the big reveal, this would have been a perfect time for me to dial up my favorite superpowered pal. It was practically automatic: Clark's nowhere to be found; call The Blur. Despite the wonders that this newfound openness is going to do for our relationship, I gotta tell you, Sweetheart, I'm gonna miss my blurry buddy. I know he's still you, and you're still him. And I know that now, when you're away and I call, it'll be your actual voice and not some distorted one talking me to sleep at night. But still, no matter how close we are, I can't talk to my boyfriend about every single thing. As punishment for depriving me of that relationship, I fully expect you to continue feigning the same interest in Harry Potter that you did as The Blur. I think that'll make us even.

I drop my heels, socks, jeans, and shirt in a trail behind me. I know I'm ruining your hard work, but I'm too exhausted to care. I'm down to my underwear and undershirt, ready for sleep, as I approach my open bedroom door. In the stillness of my apartment, I quietly say your name, hoping the sound alone can comfort me since you can't. And I couldn't be more shocked when I hear the sheets of my bed rustle and go quiet again, and my name, exhaled in a whisper. I know that voice. I peek into my dim bedroom and I couldn't be more surprised and relieved to find…

You.

Fast asleep.

In my bed.

Okay, now you're just spoiling me.

My heart flutters. You shift again. Do you have any idea how happy I am to see you? Of course, you don't. You're asleep. In my bed. Which is a shock in itself because you've never stayed the night here with me before. Let alone, in my bed. You wouldn't even sleep with me when I stayed the night at the farm. You'd always fix up Mrs. K.'s room for me. All of which now makes sense. Running out on me in the middle of the day was one thing. But, I don't know that I could've overlooked you constantly disappearing from a shared bed in the middle of the night. And apparently, you knew that, too. I sigh, and you move again. It occurs to me: I guess you're not technically spending the night with me, are you?

I'm tempted to wonder just what the hell you are doing here. You can't possibly be waiting for me, given how we left things six days ago. Maybe you got off work late and didn't want to make the drive back out to the farm. No, wait. I guess that doesn't make sense. You could be wherever you want in just a few minutes. Or is it seconds? Never mind. I'm not really interested in the logistics just now. I'd much rather just stand her and look at you.

Your face and bare torso are bathed in the moonlight coming in through my open window. You're lying on your back, holding the pillow I sleep on to your chest. You look so peaceful. So beautiful. I hope you never get tired of my flattery, because I don't ever plan on dialing it down. You really are gorgeous, Clark. The truth is that I spend way more time staring at you than you spend staring at me. I'm just less obvious about it than you are. It's a wonder we ever get anything accomplished when we're together.

As I start moving towards you, I notice a pile of your neatly folded clothes sitting in the armchair in the corner. A few pressed sets of dress shirts, pants, and ties are hanging off the back of the chair. Exactly how many nights have you spent here? I stop on the way to the bed, having spotted a plaid pattern peaking out from your stack of casual clothes. Standing over your organized belongings, I find a flannel shirt in the middle of the pile. I press it to my face and breathe in. Oh, thank god: You must have worn it recently because it still smells like you. I'm keeping this. I know I shouldn't, seeing as I already have a drawer full of these things. But, I don't care. I'll take you shopping this weekend and we'll get you a few new ones.

As I slip on and button your shirt, I see something hanging out of your large duffel. In the moonlight, I can make out the familiar shape with the "S" in the middle of it. It's a family crest, you told me. It's a reminder of who you really are, and a symbol of who you aspire to be. I've never seen this outfit when it's not on you. And it's strange to see part of it just sitting here. In my bedroom. In the middle of the night. Like it's not loaded with meaning. Like it doesn't stand for one of your two lives. And now, Clark, seeing this contrast, your two very different professional attires sitting innocently in my bedroom, I'm still having a hard time believing that the person sleeping behind me is both of the men I adore - all wrapped up in one extremely convenient and incredibly handsome package. Forget the Wii; I'm considering you my homecoming present.

I turn around and head back to my bed. Part of me thinks I should just climb in next to you, pull you around me, and go to sleep. But, I want to say hello. And, I'm sure you do, too. I crawl onto my large bed and pull my legs under me, sitting beside you. You should see yourself, holding onto my pillow like a security blanket. I'll have to remember to give you a hard time about all this later.

I study your face and consider my approach. The thing is, you're not easy to wake. I used to think there was something wrong with you. We'd fall asleep together on the couch at the farm or in my living room. Then, I'd wake, ready for you to carry me to Mrs. K.'s room or to my bedroom for the night, but hardly anything got you to rouse. It was as if you had to wake yourself, on your own, or else it would never happen. I mentioned this to Mrs. K. She said you used to scare her to death when you were a little kid, because you seemed practically comatose. She said that it would take ice water to get you up and that, even then, it seemed like it was less the ice and more you doing the waking. But, apparently, if she made a point of telling you the night before to be up by five - or whatever other ungodly hour you farm folk rise at - then you always were. She explains it as you having some kind of sixth sense, or finely attuned internal alarm. Your advanced alien brain just knows when it's time to leave dreamland and when it's not. I buy that. All the little things make sense now. Lana was right: Knowing changes everything.

You shift in my direction and loosen your hold on my pillow, and I wonder if that sixth sense of yours is telling you that I'm here. I pull the pillow away from you and set it off to the side. I smile and tuck my hair behind my ears, leaning down towards you. You'll be happy to know that for the sake of your modesty, I did not tell your mother the one tried-and-true method I've found for getting you up whenever I want.

Resting my hands on the bed on either side of your face, I touch my lips to yours and gently part your mouth with mine. I press against your upper lip and you respond immediately, sighing and pressing back against me. You whimper as I touch my tongue to your lip. In your restful fog, you exhale my name. This is usually the point where you wake, opening your eyes to focus on me and then pursuing my lips. But, your eyes are still closed and you haven't yet come into consciousness. You're somewhere in between and being particularly stubborn about leaving that place.

You exhale my name again, and I warm at the thought that wherever you are right now, I'm there with you. I tilt my head further to one side, and ease your mouth further open. As I massage your lips with mine, I feel your breath hitch. What's wrong? I start to pull back, but you press firmer against me. I move my hand to the side of your face and feel a wet streak leading from the corner of your eye, down back across your temple, and into your hair. What's going on in there that has you teary out here?

You shudder, and I feel another drop of moisture. I prepare to pull away again, but you whisper that you love me as you bring your hands to rest on the sides of my face, holding me to you. Some of my hair falls from behind my ear and down across your cheek. You breathe in deeply, and whimper in appreciation. If you can smell my hair, then you're closer to awake than asleep. I pull back a bit and murmur your name against your lips, trying to coax you out of your dream. You respond by telling me not to leave you, and I finally understand where this resistance to waking is coming from. You think I'm still gone. You think I'm not coming back to you. You think this kiss and my nearness are only a dream. I press back into you, firmer than before. You're not dreaming, Sweetheart. I'm here.

Holding my face to yours, you widen your mouth and seek out my tongue. I won't pretend that I'm not amused by how insistent you're being, despite being asleep. I reciprocate, massaging your tongue with mine, letting you drink me in. You push your hands back into my hair and exhale a whimper into my mouth. I'm not sure you've ever kissed me like this before, with this degree of need and abandon. If this is yet another result of your unburdening yourself of the truth, then I could definitely get used to it. Matching your tenor, I press deeper into you, and I warm at the sound of your soft moan of appreciation.

I could do this with you forever, but I know it's time to stop. I press my mouth securely against yours and then relent, whispering your name against your lips. You whimper mine in response, which means you're almost here. I resort to the only other gesture you seem to identify at a time like this and place my hand on your chest, over your heart. You tremble slightly, and your mouth stops moving against mine as you draw in a sharp breath. That's it. C'mon.

"Wake up, Baby."

You open your eyes and focus on me. You study my face for a moment, doubting whether I'm really here. You move your hands against my scalp and look down for a moment to see your shirt hanging off of me. You look back up at me and I glance down at your mouth. You follow my instruction and lick your lips, tasting me on you. Finally believing, you begin gently stroking my hair, as you give me a small, tender smile.

"Hi."

...

Hi.

Hi.

You're here.

I'm here.

Do you want me to go?

No.

How are you?

Better than when I left.

…Do you hate me?

No.

I hurt you.

Yeah, you did.

I lied to you.

A lot.

…I was selfish.

…Yes. You were.

And…you're not mad?

I'm not mad.

But, you should be.

But, I'm not.

…May I apologize now?

Yes.

I'm sorry. For everything.

You're forgiven. For everything.

Are we still…?

Yes. We are.

…

…

I've missed you.

I've missed you.

Do you want to talk some more?

Yes, but not right now.

But -

- Not now. I'm tired.

Can I fix you something to eat?

No, thank you.

There's ice cream.

Nice try.

What can I do?

Stay the night.

But, what if I have to…leave?

Then, I expect you to kiss me goodbye before you go.

…I love you.

I love you.

…

…

What now?

Hold me, please.

Gladly. Come here.

…

...

By the way, I've been thinking…

What about?

…You're going to need a new name.

-FIN-


End file.
